


back from that soul vacation

by DropshipMyths



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-08-13 02:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20166565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropshipMyths/pseuds/DropshipMyths
Summary: Clarke has lost Abby to the Primes and vastness of space. Bellamy's lost Octavia to the mystery of the Anomaly. The only thing to do is find their way to the one person who will truly understand.





	1. Chapter 1

_"I wanna feel the way we did that summer night_

_Drunk on a feeling, alone with the stars in the sky._

_I've been running through the jungle_

_I've been running with the wolves_

_To get to you, to get to you._

_I've been down the darkest alleys,_

_Saw the dark side of the moon_

_To get to you, to get to you._

_I've looked for love in every stranger_

_Took too much to ease the anger_

_All for you. Yeah, all for you." _

_~Selena Gomez & Marshmello, "Wolves" _

Somehow, despite everything that's just happened, the lights around the tavern still glow golden and friendly as people gather to eat. They're sitting in packs, as if they don't trust what could happen to them if they were alone. Still, the conversations hum musically, and occasionally, there's even laughter. The human race is nothing if not resilient. 

Clarke can see the second and final sun of the evening setting across the crop fields from her vantage point seated at a corner high-top. She's beside the good window, the one that's half a stained glass rainbow, each color its own triangular wedge leading toward a circular center resembling a grey moon. To her left, a bartender is pouring strong shots to whoever wants one. God knows the people of Sanctum could use a drink to blur the realization that their entire civilization was built on a body-snatching lie. 

It's quieter in the corner, yet she tries to hunch farther back into the shadows anyway, wishing she could just disappear. She doesn't want to be around these people who still have loved ones to joke with and steal food from and hug. Even her own battle-hardened space survivors seem like alien beings far across the wood floor. She watches them undoubtedly make plans for their future as they spoon stew into their mouths. 

Her fingers grip harder around the glass of sweet alcohol in her grasp. She tilts more of its contents down her throat, relishing the slight burn. It's her third of the evening, but it doesn't have the power to erase the image of her mother's kind eyes and comforting arms from when she held her for the last time. Clarke grits her teeth, tilts her head back into the wall and hisses when the picture is replaced with a harder face, hair twisted in an elegant knot, sparkling silver earrings dripping from her ears above a high-waisted gown ... then as quickly as the impostor appears, she's being sucked into the vast blackness of space, screaming as she goes.

The only ray of hope in it all is knowing Madi's safe now, free of the flame and sleeping peacefully under Gaia's watchful eye. 

"Easy, Griffin," Murphy flings out casually as he passes, hand wrapped around Emori's. The young woman smiles at Clarke kindly, and she tries to make the muscles of her face return the gesture. "I'm guessing getting plastered isn't the best thing to do after what happened to you." Despite his tone, his blue eyes scan her form with concern, taking in the empty glasses beside her. 

"John," Emori murmurs warningly, free hand squeezing his shoulder. "Let her be." 

Her honeysuckle scent suddenly envelops Clarke. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Abby was a remarkable woman," she whispers. Clarke tries not to tense much with the hug. She feels like hollowed-out stone. Her grip increases on the glass. As soon as Emori releases her, she downs the rest of her drink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

"Maybe some sleep?" Emori tries. 

Clarke purses her lips. "I'm not tired." 

Murphy nods. "We're here if you need us. You know that." It's a little bit awkward, but Clarke does appreciate the sentiment. 

She attempts a small smile. "Who knew guyliner was your thing?" 

"Screw you. I'm a excellent actor. I should get an Academy Award." 

Emori rolls her eyes and shoves him away. Clarke can hear her asking what an Academy Award is as they go. She watches them for a moment longer, Murphy running his fingers through his spiked hair and looking around the room. He waves slightly at Raven, who was previously hidden by a group of diners who just left. She's talking to ... Echo. Their heads are bent close to each other, deep in conversation. Clarke's stomach clenches, tugs itself inward, rolls over. They're back. They're back from the Anomaly and didn't tell her? The realization stabs like a knife blade between her ribs. 

She pushes off her seat, heeled boots wobbling when they hit something solid. Making her way to the bar, she waves her hand to gain the attention of Delilah's father. The heavy lines around his mouth remind her that this is at least a man who can understand loss. 

"I want a shot of the, uh, sun elixir stuff please." 

The bartender frowns. 

"Maybe some water first?" 

Clarke widens her eyes as much as she can. They're probably already getting bloodshot. "I lost my mother today," she hums, voice near dead. 

He gives her a nod of understanding and turns to pour the drink. It's yellow-orange liquid with streaks of red. She doesn't give a damn if it's the plant toxin itself in there, just downs it in one go. 

"Thanks," she says and heads for the door, pulling her dark coat closer to her body in preparation for facing the brisk air. She can't help but peer around the room once more before she goes, searching for long, black hair or the familiar hunch of broad shoulders. But, no. She was right on her first inspection: neither of the Blakes are here tonight. 

The wind rattles around her as she sets out around the pond and toward the edge of the steep hillside in the direction of the small cottage loft she was planning on sharing with Madi. Yet after one look at Clarke in the tavern, Indra had kindly demanded Madi stay with herself and Gaia for the night, so they could monitor her. Clarke didn't have the will to argue. Her child would be safe with them and seemed open to, if not thrilled with, giving her an evening alone. Madi had kissed Clarke on the cheek and squeezed her hand before she went. "We're going to get through this, I promise. I love you," she'd said. 

For the first time since the start of Praimfaya, Clarke yearned to be a little girl again, safe in her mother's lap in their Ark apartment. But Abby was gone, could never walk her through stitching up a wound or ensure her she was one of the good guys ever again. Just yesterday, Sheidheda almost burrowed completely into Madi's mind and turned her soul to poison. The fear of it still grips at her throat. It was time to accept the reality of the situation. She couldn't keep her loved ones safe. She couldn't keep herself safe when it came down to it. Thinking Cillian actually wanted her was the first laughable mistake. The memory of him hovering over her in bed, pressing himself inside her makes her skin crawl with the sensation of marching ants. She hadn't been with a man since Finn and always thought-

Well, it didn't fucking matter what she thought. Experience had already proven her emotional assumptions were often the ones which were the most wrong. As she makes her way over the crest of the hill, the illumination of the shield around the crop fields lights up the tight group of dwellings nearby. Without really meaning to, her eyes stray to the one on the edge that's supposed to be for Bellamy, Octavia, Miller and Jackson. Its windows are all dark. So where the hell are they? Blood starts to pump harder at the base of her throat and inside her ears. The short breaths of panic are not ones she wants to revisit so soon. But they're coming. They're coming. 

Where is she? Where is _he? _

It was a mistake to drink tonight, but it would've been a mistake not to drink, too. She couldn't be in her mind, at least not yet. Something had to dull the never-ending ache which presses in every time she conjures up her mother's arms wrapped around her father when they all watched football like the blissfully naive fools they were. Besides, he'd gone with his sister and Gabriel and Echo. Not her. It's not her fault she's like this - they left her behind. No, that's stupid. She'd had to take care of Madi, attend to the battle wounded with Jackson. There were plans to make with the others, and she, like Bellamy had told Russell what feels like a lifetime ago, was their leader. For better or for worse. It was her responsibility. So, no, she hadn't minded staying behind as she watched them trek into the woods. Not really. 

It's like her subconscious brain is on autopilot. Before she knows it, her hand is resting on the wooden beam at the end of the tiny porch of the darkened cottage. It's rough under her fingers. Overhead the sky is cloudy, but the wind is slowly pushing the feathery grey clouds across a large crescent moon. She peers in a window first, just to be sure. No sign of movement. Missing the simple practicality of their Arkadian radios, she spins around to scan the environment once more. Nothing on the horizon line. The world fades into softer lines at the periphery of her vision, which is probably the main reason she hears him before she sees him when he emerges from the trees. 

"_Clarke_?" 

She moves wordlessly in the direction of the grumble of his voice, starting to cry for what's probably no good reason at all. His expression morphs from surprise to concern and then he's standing before her wrapped in his thick sweater, hands bracing where they circle around her elbows. 

"What is it?" 

"Where's Octavia?" 

They speak at the same time. He nods at her to go first. 

"I ... didn't know where you were." It sounds so weak, but she doesn't care. "I miss my mom." 

It's ugly sobs that pour out of her when he pulls her into his chest, stroking up her spine and giving her a few long moments to collect herself. 

"I'm right here and I'm sorry, Clarke. I'm so sorry." 

He rocks her gently in his arms. Their bodies sway like he's trying to be a human cradle for her. When her brain goes quiet enough that she thinks she can speak calmly, she takes a step back, mopping at her eyes with her coat. Her fingers reach back out to lock around his wrist. He's close and warm, and she needs to feel his skin and smell the fresh night air woven into his clothes. She can't explain why. 

"Where's Octavia?" she blinks up at him, eyes softening when she captures the pain in his. "What happened out there?" 

She lets out the softest gasp when his hand slips down to cup hers. "She's inside the Anomaly," he murmurs, voice breaking. 


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, Bellamy," she breathes, squeezing his hand in her own. Her voice sounds softer and more melodic than usual. But then again, maybe it's what she usually sounds like when she's talking to him. Plus, you know, alcohol. She has to take a moment and get her bearings. The world has stopped tilting on the periphery of her vision with his body right in front of her acting as a grounding force. She blinks, breathes in and out. "What does that mean? Where is she?"

He's shaking. It's not a lot, but it's enough to notice and she pauses, drawing back to really take him in. His eyes are both wild and traumatized all at once, dark and expressive as ever.

"She was ... with me," he stares down to where their hands are linked. "In my arms. And then-she was just...gone. She vanished, Clarke."

She shakes her blonde head back and forth in slow motion, eyes narrowed in confusion. He's scaring her. Something's wrong. It has to be. Nobody just disappears through a magic portal. But he looks so serious about it, like an earnest child explaining how he didn't use the last of his ration points on games from the Exchange instead of getting the food his mother requested. He was an adorable little boy, she's sure of it. Chubby cheeks and a healthy dusting of freckles set under big brown eyes. The image creates a tugging somewhere deep inside her chest.

"Let's go sit down," she murmurs, pulling at his jacket sleeve when he spends several minutes staring out at the darkening horizon line. "Come on, your cabin's right here."

She takes a step forward, but he doesn't follow. She turns back to him, wrinkling her brow. He's so lost, so desolate. How could Echo have left him like this? Did she at least walk back to Sanctum with him, or did she let him wander through the forest alone amidst all the traps laid out by the Children of Gabriel? She cups the side of his stubbled cheek with her palm. It feels foreign yet familiar. Also, it does the trick. His eyes boomerang right back to hers, and she has him. "Please, Bellamy. You're scaring me. I want you to explain everything."

His muscles soften, and he gives her the sweetest half-smile that she swears is pulling her chest cavity in two. "Sorry," is all he says and follows her like he's in a daze.

But when her ankle gets caught on an upturned tree root six paces later, he jumps into action so fast she thinks she's back at the dropship. She can still feel her bone's weariness, sick with the grounder's wasting disease and about to fall over. The blonde teen pointing his gun at her, the dry buzzing in her ears. The world narrowing. Then Bellamy wrestling the weapon away and elbowing him in the face. There was the crack of a broken nose. It's just like that now, except it's Bellamy's arms and not Finn's that catch her up as she begins to fall to the earth with a yelp.

"I got you," he says much more firmly than she expected from what she just witnessed a minute ago.

"It's ok," she protests weakly. "I can walk."

She hates the words as soon as they're out of her mouth. They taste like dirt. The truth is always so much more complicated than what she allows herself to say. But her head's already nuzzling into his chest, betraying her, and she hears a faint, dry chuckle beside her ear.

"I've got you," he repeats.

His living room is cozy once he turns on two lamps. She has a good look around from her vantage point on the sofa he lightly drops her on. There are two broad bookshelves with a collection of paperback treasures she's sure he'd be dying to examine if their entire lives weren't such a sheer and consistent disaster.

"You good?"

Clarke tries to roll her ankle in the black heeled boots and winces.

"I'll get ice."

"It's really ok," she protests vaguely, but Bellamy's already walking in the direction of the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer in search of something that will work as an ice pack. He comes back with frozen water cubes wrapped in a thin red cloth and a glass of water for her that he leaves right beside her on the floor.

"Here." The green velvet couch dips with his weight, and she holds her breath when his hand wraps delicately around her calf and brings her ankle into his lap to apply the ice. For a moment, his thumb brushes back and forth across her calf through her leggings, and a quick jolt of something that's too strong to be misinterpreted as anything but arousal shoots through her. Everything is more raw. She could blame the drink from the tavern. She could blame the Primes murdering her mother. But in the end, when everything around her always filters out like sand through an hourglass to leave just Bellamy whenever his attention lands on her, the only one to blame is herself for thinking spending six years abandoned on a desert planet talking into a radio that never talked back meant something. How could it? He never knew. He moved on like she should now.

She reaches out to take the makeshift ice pack from him, but he shakes his head. The tips of their fingers just brush when he raises his hand briefly to motion her backward. "Lay down. I want it to stay elevated."

Clarke clears her throat.

"Thank you," she nods at her foot, striving for normalcy. "But what about Octavia? What happened?"

"First drink up, Princess," he nods at the water. "I know I told you to have more than one, but--"

She grins at the memory of the crackling Unity Day fire while her face flushes with embarrassment. That he even remembered is ... wild. When she looks up, it's to find Bellamy smiling back at her, and she nudges the side of his thigh with her good foot. "Very funny. Tell me what happened."

His layered irises watch her intently until she starts sipping the water. Satisfied at last, he begins to speak.

His voice is deep and world weary when he recounts the strange, golden machine covered in obscure symbols they found buried below Gabriel's tent in the woods. How Octavia's back was covered in markings from her trip through the Anomaly and how somehow, that pattern unlocked the whirring beast, bringing it to life. Bellamy watches Clarke, unsure, one hand holding the ice close to her ankle as a distraction she thinks, releasing the pressure as she grits at the coldness.

"Then what?" She scans his face and reads doubt there. "Bellamy, we've ... we've killed together." It burns her, still. "We survived an apocalypse. Please tell me."

He presses his lips together, jerking his chin once before meeting her gaze. "Diyoza's daughter came back. Hope. Right out of this blurring, lime green tornado. I swear, Clarke. I--"

It makes no sense.

"She hasn't had her daughter yet."

"She did --in the Anomaly. Her name's Hope. She's already grown up, around our age it looked like."

"Wait. What?"

Bellamy's voice shakes, but he keeps talking. "She said something to Octavia about a man having her mother. O said something about it being done. Then she fell back in my arms and goddamn disappeared, Clarke! I ran out into the woods screaming her name, but it was too late. It took her, whatever it is. She's gone."

He drops the ice as his voice cracks on her name and buries his head in his hands. Her heart aches because she knows despite how much he tries to shake his guilt and responsibility for his little sister, a small part of that will always remain. It's coded into his mental hardware by forces nearly beyond his control, a part of who he is now.

"Ok, it's all right. I believe you. Bellamy," she says more clearly so she's sure he hears her. "I do."

Hissing, Clarke pulls her feet away from his lap and swivels so she's sitting next to him on the couch. She wraps a tentative arm around his waist, and his head falls to her shoulder.

"It's going to be ok," she murmurs into his hair. "She's strong. We'll get her back. If Diyoza is still in there, so is she."

Her mind is doing gymnastic routines trying to piece it all together. A green vortex that plays with time? Is such a thing possible?

"So what happened to the others?" she demands, the alcohol beginning to unravel her from its sticky fingers.

"Gabriel is with Hope back at his tent, trying to figure out what the hell happened," comes his muffled answer.

"And," she swallows hard. "Echo let you walk back alone?"

He raises his head so slowly and turns to her like a man awaiting his turn to be floated. "No. I chose to."

There's more, something he's not telling her. She wonders how far she should push him. They're both so fragile, fraying at the seams. It shouldn't be possible to endure so much pain in such a short lifetime. For a few minutes, she lets the silence stretch out between them, aimlessly rubbing small circles into his shoulder. He doesn't move his head. But finally, he speaks again.

"I know she's not my responsibility anymore, Clarke. I told her that when we were in the caves together." He sits up and Clarke nods. "But," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I still kind of lost it when she was just gone out of thin air. I was screaming at Gabriel, begging him to tell me what happened, to explain what he'd done. Echo got scared, yelled at Gabriel to give me a toxin sedative. She said I was ranting and had started knocking things off the shelves. I didn't mean to ... I don't even remember."

Clarke bites her lip, unsure how to make this better.

"I'm not that guy anymore. I don't want to be him."

He looks up at her, a few tears sticking to his lash line. The urge to kiss his temple overwhelms her, but she refrains from it, sighing instead.

"I know, Bellamy. You're not. You were just caught off guard. They know you'd never hurt them."

"That's the thing. Echo said she couldn't calm me down, so Gabriel found something to knock me out for a few minutes."

Clarke's stomach twists. She hates that he was hurting like that and she couldn't be there to help. She imagines his body crumpling to the floor needlessly when they could've talked him down if they just knew what to say.

"Did you have any side effects?" she demands, holding onto his thigh when he shifts to sit up.

"No. I don't think so."

"So then what--"

Bellamy's large, hot hand lands on top of hers, and his eyes are full of barely concealed frenzy when they lock on hers.

"Let it go, Clarke," he grits.

Her face contorts. "No! This is important! If they hurt you--"

"They didn't."

"I saw Echo with Raven in the tavern. There's still something you're not telling me."

He releases her hand and gets up, walking to the other side of the room to stare out the large window.

"You don't want to know."

"Yes I do!"

She gulps down more water to urge the small headache building behind her left eye away. Cringing, she stands up and hobbles to him.

"Bellamy," she says softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

His back tenses and he whips around. "Don't hurt your ankle!" He snaps. "You've got to rest it."

He half drags her back to the couch, not stopping until the ice is back on, he's dragged a blanket from the nearby armchair over her and propped up her leg on two pillows.

"I'm fine," she tries to insist.

"Well I'm not!" He shouts so suddenly that she flattens back into the pillows in surprise. "I hate when something happens to you!"

Mouth parted and eyes wide, she nods in slow motion.

Face filled with anguish, he drops on his knees beside her, reaching for one of her hands with both of his. She lets it go willingly. He's watching her with such intensity that everything else whites out around her. Gently, she strokes her thumb up the inside of his palm.

"I kept calling for you when I was waking up from the sedative," Bellamy admits at last. "I said your name over and over. That's why Echo let me walk back alone, Clarke. You're why."


	3. Chapter 3

Bellamy looks wretched. His hair's a mess from how many times he ran his hand through its waves. "She said she can't be with me anymore. That it's too hard ... " Bellamy eyes her warily before seeming to make a decision, "... now that you're back." 

Clarke goes very still. Her ears are ringing distantly. He can't mean what she thinks he means. 

"What?" Her voice is breathy. She's shaking her head involuntarily. "No, Bellamy. Please. Don't let me get in the middle of -- she's your family. She's--"

"Not you." 

Clarke tilts her head to the side taking in the man kneeling before her. She sees so clearly now what Raven meant all those years ago. _A good little knight by his queen's side_. It pains her like a bullet wound to her chest. He has always been so good, too good to her. So incredibly loyal down to the last seconds he held off in Becca's lab, willing her blonde head to appear through the metallic doors. Despite everything they've been through - despite everything they should have grown from - since the first time she sized him up at the dropship door, somehow they always wind up right back here. On the verge of something transcendent but never arriving. 

She loves him. She loves him utterly and completely. This she can admit to herself now. At first she imagined it snuck up on her slowly during the years they were separated and that that was why it hurt when she first saw him embrace Echo. But that's not really the truth. She didn't fall in love with the Bellamy Blake who rocked her as she cried in an orange jump suit fearing she'd never see her mother again. She fell in love with the Bellamy Blake whose strong hold was the only thing keeping her from being speared alive in a pit. Who grinned when he discovered guns seeped in oil in a dark, musty bunker and confessed against a tree trunk that he was afraid he'd become a monster. She had loved the Bellamy Blake she nursed to health after the grounders' plague and the one who let Murphy hang him instead of Jasper. She loves the gritty truth of his beginning and the fierce loyalty of his leadership in the end. She loves that he's _real_, and she loves that she always thought of him as hers. _He still is _a voice whispers in the recesses of her soul. 

It breaks her. She starts to cry. 

Bellamy's dark eyes glisten and his face softens when Clarke reaches out to cradle his cheek in her palm. Hesitantly, she brushes the pad of her thumb over his tilting line of freckles. She feels his breath on her wrist when he lets out a sigh he'd been holding in. 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. 

Bellamy shakes his head. He looks haunted and intensely sad. "I never wanted you to be sorry about that." 

Her brow crinkles. She bites her lip. There is a palpable, humming energy between them. Regret has left more marks on her than she'll ever be able to count. But this night isn't going to be one of them. It's not a conscious choice to fall forward into his arms. Rather, it feels like the pull of gravity. Her thin arms are banded around his neck the next moment while his lock around her waist and pull her closer, closer, closer into his chest. His tears wet her shoulder. 

"I thought Josephine still had you when I woke up."

Her lungs burn. 

"I c-can't lose you, Clarke. I ... need you. It's you, always has been." 

She grips him tighter, crying harder now. She's nodding, and all she can hope is that he understands her without words because her throat's not letting any out. But he always has before. He lets her cling to him for what has to be a few minutes, just stroking up and down the length of her spine as she calms. 

Finally, his rumbling voice breaks the silence though it's full of cracks. 

"I know I don't deserve you, but I swear Clarke, I'll--"

Horrified, she leans back, only now realizing she's been straddling his lap. Her boots are tucked on either side of his hips, but she doesn't bother to move. 

"Stop," she chokes. "Stop doing that to yourself. _You saved my life, Bellamy_. You're the one who believed I could get out of Josephine's mind space, nobody else. You always fight for me." 

He's breathing a little heavier than usual, and it makes her ache to think she's ever caused him any pain at all. 

"How could I not?" His half-grin is wobbly but still there. 

"Very easily," she murmurs bitterly. The memories of all the ways she's hurt him are stored together in a crushingly depressing place locked deep in her mind where the ghosts of her parents keep them company. "I know I apologized already..." she plays with the frayed edge of her jacket because it's easier than meeting his eyes. "But I want you to know I'll spend every day for the rest of my life regretting leaving you in Polis." 

Hot tears are leaking down her flushed cheeks again, and they distract her enough that it takes a moment to realize Bellamy is lifting her back up onto the couch before moving to sit beside her. He throws a heavy arm around her shoulders, and she hides her face in the hollow of his shoulder. 

"I already forgave you, Clarke. It's done."

Her fingers cut into the curve of his hip. "I don't know why you always do." 

Bellamy sighs, cradling her chin in his fingers and drawing her face up toward the light to look at his. With great care, he wipes at her tears with the hem of his shirtsleeve. "You do know," he tells her solemnly. "I think you've known for a long time." 

There are flecks of amber hope in his irises when she dares let her gaze linger there. "I knew," she admits very quietly. "But I couldn't deal with it on Earth." 

"With what?" Of course he wants all the words. He wants all of her. It would feel overwhelming if he hadn't taken her hand and slotted his fingers between hers. They fit together, and she shivers at the sensation. 

Clarke takes a deep breath and brings their joined hands to the center of her chest where she can feel her blood pump through her veins and arteries. "With you being my heart." 

She shifts backward on the couch letting her hand fall from his until her back hits a soft pillow. She doesn't say anything - it isn't their way. Instead, she moves her chin up and to the right mere inches and parts her knees. Bellamy's already following her motions as if they're locked together in a cosmic ballet. Clarke smiles tenderly at the feel of his comfortable weight finally settling over her body. Bellamy's face dips down until their noses almost brush. His eyes have always been kind, she thinks, just before his lips meet hers. Her hand latches onto the belt loop at his waist and the other finds a perch over the space where his own heart rests. Where it beats for her. 


End file.
